Fado

Hello Gentle Reader

A fado is often defined as a song, characterised by mournful lyrics and sombre tunes. It is often compared with the Portuguese word saudade, which is a form of longing for someone, or a place that may or may not have even existed. As mentioned time and time again, Antonio Tabucchi was often influenced by this special Portuguese notion of wistful loneliness; about the damage of an irreplaceable loss, and its continual consequences, that reverberate throughout an individual’s life. The fado is much different then, the Spanish romantic’s and fiery passion. There is no woman in a red dress, sword in hand, standing on the head of a bull. No sensual barbaric, whispers and movements of love. The fado is timeless; in that it does not spark ones intensity for romantic passion, or make one desire to dance the dance of domination, and sensuality. It’s a quieter tempo. It pulls the heart strings. It laments a lost childhood. It speaks of the one we admired; and who never knew it. It sings of the poor. If one were to compare a fado to any other form of song, it would be chanson réaliste; and that comparison can only be made in the most superficial of contexts. Andrzej Stasiuk’s book of essays – generally composed of travels and journeys; takes the Portuguese song as its title. Stasiuk’s “Fado,” is melancholic, but also ironic and humorous. However, there is a great passage in which, Stasiuk describes, the melancholy of Portugal, brought on by a song; while visiting Albania.

“The melancholy of the music [fado] and the melancholy of the town intermingled, and the image became permanently imprinted in my memory – low grey buildings, the chaotic bustle of the street, a cloudless sky, pale blue mist over the waters of the lake, and the low voice of the singer imbued with mournfulness. At the time I thought to myself that Portugal is in a sense similar to Albania. Both lie at the edge of a landmass, at the edge of the continent, at the end of the world. Both countries lead somewhat unreal lives beyond the main flow of history and events. Portugal can at least dream of past glory, and like Albania can long for a fulfillment to be brought by some undefined future.”

Andrzej Stasiuk is one of Poland’s contemporary greats. Poland is a master culture and country when it comes, to literature. It has produced some of the finest writers the world has, had the pleasure of reading. Those include:WisławaSzymborska, to CzesławMiłosz, to Adam Zagajewski, up to some of the great post-communist writers, like Tulli, Tokarczuk, and Pilch. All of whom Stasiuk can call his fellow countrymen; and contemporary co-workers. Stasiuk is known more so for his, essays – generally about his travels. With “Fado,” Stasiuk writes of the Other Europe; that no longer exists physically – as Europe is now finally a whole continent once again. This “Other Europe,” now only exists, in the ignorant minds of the west, which dream and imagine a strange land beyond their own borders. This is the land that Stasiuk calls home. Yet because this “Other Europe,” exists in the lack of information or knowledge or perhaps lack of interest in what lies outside our own doors or even windows, and gardens – Stasiuk quotes his friend Yuri Andrukhovych as the reason, as to the capital brilliance of this ignorance.

“he [a writer] can tell the most outrageous stories about his country and his part of the continent, he can spin the most fantastical tales, present them as God's honest truth, and then simply rest on his laurels, since his stories will never be subject to verification -- partly because his audience suspects that in his part of the world anything at all can really happen, but also partly because, for this audience, the very existence of that region is highly problematic and already resembles a literary fiction.”

Andrzej Stasiuk has lived in the Carpathian Mountains for some two decades or more. It’s the back bone of Europe; as the Danube is the artery that connects the west of Europe to its eastern counterpart. Stasiuk reflects on the state of change – and in some cases the inability of change. Stasiuk is not a man of the future. The future is shapeless, grey and has the potential of always changing. To bet or to predict the future is, to try and win a losing gamble. Instead Stasiuk echoes the struggles of Eastern Europe and its struggle with their western cousins. However he also dreams of what we all dream of when we think of Eastern Europe. One of which is its confused and ambivalent relationship with its more recent past. A past that includes being ruled by dictators, and a stifling party system, that was to reflect the future. It was to be the shining red star and the beacon of hope for all workers. In the end its meant its own bleak future, like the Eastern Europe of Stasiuk’s dreams.

“I dream of crumbling watchtowers amid bleak scenery, and cyclists wheeling their rusty bikes across a hilly country between towns whose names can be pronounced in at least three different languages; I dream of horse-drawn carts, and of people, and food, and hybrid landscapes and all the rest.”

When traveling in Romania – a country the author has a continual fascination with, because of its continual fairy-tale quality and ambiguity even with its own past and present. As Stasiuk explains:

“That’s Romania: gilded plafonds and mouldings and a broke toilet. Romania is a land of marvels. I’ve been there maybe a dozen times and I still haven’t had enough. Romania is a fairy-tale. Past, present, and future coexist there, and decay walks arm in arm with growth. The new is very on the way, but the old survives, equally well.”

Such passages lead to, pick up a plane and back pack the country. And not just Romania; but also Slovakia, the Czech Republic, Poland, Hungary – but also the not mentioned countries, like Estonia and Latvia. In Stasiuk’s prose, this world of contradictions and pretend lands of surreal decay and growth becomes very vivid and welcoming. One has the itch to go see these off beaten tracks. Discover the worlds, which one thought could only exist in the Brother Grimm’s fairy-tales. It’s a place of devote older woman, on their journey’s to early morning mass. It’s a land of electrical failures, because northern Albania is barbaric and savage; and a place rumoured where demons reside. It is not visited with pleasure; but rather left for dreams of prosperity.

Stasiuk also mentions a generational gap of an understanding of life. The youth of Eastern Europe, long to escape it. They have dreams, and desires. None of which can be achieved in a land of decay and cemeteries. They wish to flee their steeple spiked landscapes; run from the inefficient plumbing; and the devoted old woman dressed in black and mumbling prayers while holding their rosaries as talismans to escape eternal damnation. These young people are dressed in brightly – almost obscenely; coloured clothes. The fabric is decorated with slogans, with incomprehensible words, that escape understanding. Yet they are worn with pride – even though their message – if there is one, is completely missed.

“Fado,” is a book of ruminations. Stasiuk’s interests lies in the forgotten parts of Europe. It is a place of rust, decay, growth and history that is forgotten, and yet lived through every day. The past echoes in the everyday. People walk down streets, in which armies and soldiers had marched. People from Hungary, Slovakia and Romania reside in the homes, of the Germans who had since abandoned their ancestral homes in the Banat. It’s a complicated history. One in which the country’s borders have changed, and continue to be argued over. As Stasiuk points out though their existence is not known about, from the rest of the world.

“Existence for its own sake has long stopped having any meaning.”

Still the collection of essays, and travels, proves to be an interesting road map through Central and Eastern Europe. Stasiuk himself has stated that he has no interest in Western Europe. Stasiuk said the following, in an interview inregards to his introspective interest in his native land:

“I haven't been to France or Spain and I’ve never thought about going there. I am simply interested in our part of the world, this central and eastern reality. My God, what would I be doing in France . . .”

The collection would appear to be more, stronger if it had been organized as if Stasiuk had traveled through the different countries and their unsung villages and customs, if they were organized by country. However in that place, Stasiuk has created a collection of essays of reminisces, impressions, and thoughts that are incredibly personal, and allows for the author to think and ponder over the land, and how it has shaped his own characters, from his life in the Carpathian Mountains, and how it refuses to belong to just one country; and the experience of living within and around the mountains, connects the author to other locals from other countries, as they live in the shadow of the mountain range. This is an interesting look into the forgotten other Europe. Central and Eastern Europe continues to strive for a brighter future, and overcome the turbulent past it has endured.

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M. Mary